i wanted love, i needed love
by Mulligatawny
Summary: and maybe they just don't know the lyrics anymore. Andre&Tori.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Victorious. Title belongs to the song 'Tighten Up' by the Black Keys.**

**(A/N) For Lovely Amelie's challenge. My prompt is _lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking off her clothes. _How I came up with this fic from that prompt, the world may never know. Written in lowercase because I felt like it. **

* * *

there are no fairytale endings in hollywood.

.

he says "i love you."

she says "i have to go."

she walks away and doesn't look back.

he just stands there.

neither one of them really expected otherwise.

.

she's discovered one day at a karaoke competition.

she gets a record deal. she records a song and everyone tells her amazing it (she) is.

only it's not the same because _he _didn't write it.

but she was the one who ran away, so she can't complain.

.

he's discovered one day, playing the piano at a coffee house.

he's brought into a studio so some girl can record his songs for her debut album.

only it's not the same because _she _isn't singing the lyrics.

but he was the one who didn't chase after her, so he can't complain.

.

five of the top ten songs on the top 40 over the next two months have tori vega as a tagline.

the music industry is abuzz with the name andré harris and how talented he is.

they're not best friends anymore but all those dreams they talked about in her living room as he played the piano (naturally) and she sang his songs (always) are coming true.

this is what people call 'a hollow victory'.

.

she's not the same anymore, he realizes.

the beautiful girl he loves (always has, always will) is breaking.

he sees it in the pictures. she's skinnier than ever. (too skinny, he thinks.)

her eyes (the ones who inspired a million songs in his notebook) don't shine anymore.

the tabloids seem to have taken it upon themselves to take as many pictures of her as possible whenever she's drunk.

and the worst part?

he can't do a damn thing about it.

.

she can't make it shine anymore, she realizes.

she doesn't lose herself in songs anymore, she's not as happy, she feels lonely, and a million other problems.

so she takes to drinking. it blurs the edges of reality and everybody shines, even her!

(and she never spares a second thought to the musician whose heart she broke- she always was a little selfish.)

.

he finds her. or rather, he stumbles across her.

he's at a party being hosted by some middle-aged actress named brenda who acts like she's twenty and keeps hitting on him. ew.

so he scans the room, desperate to find somebody he recognizes and he sees her talking to the bartender.

_no, not her, anybody but her_, he thinks but it's too late.

"andré!" she squeals, obviously drunk. he hates that hollywood did that to her.

andré tries to walk away but brenda has him cornered and tori has already staggered her way over to him. great.

tori starts swaying and latches on to andré's shoulder. she giggles. andré sighs. brenda walks away, pissed off. he looks around the room and sees paparazzi.

next thing he knows, he's telling tori that he's taking her to his apartment. she slurs her approval of the idea.

(he always was a masochist when it came to her.)

.

she wakes up on his couch the next morning with a splitting headache.

she has a vague recollection of a party, a bartender, and andré taking her to his apartment.

oh god, she thinks as she realizes where she is. she can't be here, not now, not after what happened, crap, she has to leave like _now-_

"tori." he says emotionlessly. tori snaps out of her reverie. andré has a cup of coffee in one hand and a plain bagel in the other. he catches her looking at them.

"they're for you." he says and he hands them to her. he walks into his bedroom.

she could stay. she could let herself love him. she could let herself be happy.

(she's long gone by the time he decides to check up on her.)

.

her songs stop reaching the top of the charts.

his songs are darker, angrier and people don't want them.

she blames him. he blames her.

(really, they should be blaming themselves.)

.

he still loves her.

figures.

.

she used to know the songs of her life so well.

she used to know andré's melody the best. she'd wrap herself up in his rhythm and she'd make it shine. (with his help, always with his help.)

her life used to be a series of cheery high notes and the lyrics were golden (like her).

(the only song she knows now is heartbreak.)

.

he decides to look for her.

he googles her address. (oh, he remembers when her address was burned into his brain. but those days are gone.)

he hops in his pick-up truck (the only thing he has left from high school, other than her) and drives to a classy apartment building.

he gets out of the car, ignores the doorman's greeting, and heads straight to the elevator. he calls it to the lobby and when it opens, he sees _her _standing there. (life is just a cliché, it seems.)

she makes a small noise of surprise and the smell of champagne and some other alcoholic drink reaches him.

"hi." he says. she smiles.

(and it's like the first day they met all over again.)

.

she doesn't deserve a second chance.

she knows she doesn't.

but he gives her one anyways.

she's glad he does.

now all she has to do is not screw it up like she always does.

.

"i love you." she whispers to him as they walk down the red carpet, hand-in-hand (like the way it should be).

he gives her a small smile. (by the way, her breath doesn't reek of liquor anymore.)

he thinks that maybe he actually kinda believes her.

.

he wakes up one morning in his apartment, expecting to see tori next to him just like it's been for the past few happy weeks.

instead there's a sheet of paper. it doesn't have any words of apology, no regrets, no nothing.

just the lyrics to 'make it shine'.

he doesn't even know what it's supposed to mean. (oh, and he used to be able to read her intentions like a book.)

he opens a drawer in his bedside table and takes out his notebook.

he writes a song about regrets and runaway loves and a relationship stuck on 'repeat'.

(oh, and for the first time in a long time, all the hot artists want one of his songs but that doesn't matter anymore.)

.

she ran away. she kinda had to.

or at least that's what she tries telling herself.

(oh, and her apartment's fridge is stocked with red wine and vodka again anymore but she doesn't give a damn anymore.)

.

they tell themselves they can move on.

(oh, but their acting never was all that convincing anyways.)

.

he goes back to writing the songs he's always written. the emotions behind them aren't real anymore but the record company takes them anyways.

she goes back to the partying and the binge drinking and she sings melodies she doesn't understand anymore.

.

a few weeks later, she shows up at his front door.

he can't figure out why he lets her come in.

.

they sort of go back to the way they used to be.

instead of attending glamorous hollywood parties, he plays the piano (naturally) and she sings his songs (always).

they tell themselves it'll work out this time.

.

she runs away again. (she just can't help herself.)

neither one of them is surprised anymore.

.

he thinks that maybe they'll be stuck like this forever.

they're doomed to this existence; running away and coming back and running away and coming back and _oh god it never ends._

but he loves tori (and maybe he's a little masochistic after all), so he'll take what he can get.

.

she knows that she'll never be able to love him the way he deserves.

she comes back and leaves and she leaves and she comes back and _oh god she can't stop herself._

but she really does care about andré (and maybe she's a sadist and just never knew it), so she starts the cycle all over again.

.

(and they lived happily never after.)

* * *

**(A/N) I don't even know. I usually don't write anything this contarded or fragmented but I rewrote this like twice and there's barely any fanfiction for this pairing (and I don't get that) and I just had to finish this. I'm pretty sure it sucks (angst is definitely not my forte) but if I guess if I don't practice, I'll never learn. (Or some crap like that.) Ugh. Constructive criticism much appreciated (and needed).**


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